The Death of a Phoenix
by lokilette
Summary: As Fawkes sings his lament over the mourners at Albus Dumbledore's funeral, Minerva McGonagall recalls the moments she shared with a man she learned to love. K for swearing.


_This was not her first funeral. As old as she was, Minerva was no stranger to loss. They had walked hand in hand together before, meeting again like old friends, trailed by all the baggage he brought with him – grief, anger, sorrow...regret. Of all the things, that was the hardest. All the words left unsaid. All the feelings never expressed._

_The sky opened up in a gentle rain. If only, she thought, if only that was enough to wash it all away. She tipped her head back, welcoming the cold drops on her face. Maybe that would be enough to mask the tears that she couldn't hold in any longer._

_It was fitting that the day should be gray—like his hair, though it had once been as red as a phoenix. Like his eyes when he was lost deep in thought. Like life would be, Minerva imagined, without the color that he brought to it. Through the haze, the casket gleamed a luminous white. It was a beacon of hope against the bleak backdrop—just like the man._

_From somewhere on high, a long note mingled with the rain, washing over the mourners. Everyone's eyes lifted to watch the phoenix in its final flight, a shimmering ruby against the black storm clouds. The note changed as the bird shifted on the wind, and for a moment time stood still. _

_Raindrops dangled mid-fall. Tears were plastered where they rolled down cheeks. The wind disappeared completely. The silence of the world roared in her ears, and Minerva closed her eyes, letting the song of the phoenix carry her back to happier times._

**~oOo~**

"What's this? A whole new year of fresh minds just yearning for knowledge?"

A middle-aged wizard shuffled to the middle of the room. His beard was midway down his chest and his hair was almost as long, both gray with just the faintest hint of auburn. His robes were a deep blue, specked with stars that actually appeared to glitter from the folds of fabric as he walked.

"My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore. I should warn you all, transfiguration is a powerful and dangerous magic. It requires focus, precision, and confidence. I expect you all to take this class seriously. A botched transfiguration isn't very pretty, and I assure you that is _not_ a letter I want to write home to your parents, so we will be sure to take necessary precaution in this class."

Minerva had to admit, he wasn't quite what she expected. _This_ was supposedly the greatest wizard of their age, the man who had defeated the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald? He wasn't much to look at.

He paused to survey the room, and Minerva found a chill involuntarily traverse her spine when his eyes passed over her. They were a strong, steely blue that shone, even behind the half-moon glasses he wore low on the bridge of his nose. She couldn't place exactly what it was, but as feeble as he looked there was something immense about him, some power that crackled around him like a field of electricity branching out from his eyes.

"Oh, I know what you're all thinking. Who cares about all this talk of transfiguration? You want to see it in action. Am I right? Of course you do."

From his robes, he pulled a bag of some sort of candy and tossed it in the air. With a flick of his wand, the yellow treats, wrappers and all, twisted into butterflies, and the room was suddenly filled with them, bouncing around the students' heads. They floated on the beams of sunlight for a few minutes and, one-by-one, alighted in front of a student. When they had all landed, he flicked his wand again, and in front of each of them lay a piece of yellow candy.

"It has more practical uses, of course," Professor Dumbledore admitted, "but I rather like the idea of not having to walk around to everyone. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

He winked, and Minerva felt herself smile against her will. She popped the sherbet lemon in her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue. Perhaps there was more to him than first impressions belied. Perhaps he was as powerful as they said. After all, he used nonverbal spells with ease.

In that moment, Minerva decided that regardless of how long it took, regardless of the sacrifices she would make in the meantime, one day she would surpass Albus Dumbledore.

**~oOo~**

"Again."

The tone was steady and infuriatingly patient. Professor Dumbledore, dressed in regal, purple robes, was perched on a stool like a king on a throne. Those steely eyes drilled holes in her, and she was exhausted.

Hell, she had coerced the family cat into doing her bidding long before she could speak full sentences, so why was this so damn _difficult?_ Despite her exhaustion, Minerva tried again. There was the familiar tingle as magic flowed through her, then a slight tickle on her rear end, and then nothing.

A tail. After all the practice and effort, she had managed a tail. What good was that? She was exhausted, mentally and physically, she was failing miserably, which was something Minerva Mcgonagall just simply did not do, and she had a tail. She resisted the urge to collapse on the floor in a heap of exhaustion.

"You know, I never once hesitated when you asked for my help to become an Animagus, Ms. Mcgonagall. You're a brilliant witch. If anyone could manage it, you could. I always imagined what it would be like to be an Animagus. I'd be a bird, I think. I should like to try flying, even just once. But I never made it. Never even tried. The process requires a certain patience and diligence that, alas, I simply do not possess. But here you are, with a cute, little tail already."

Minerva scrunched up her face at the notion that the tail was cute. It was frustrating, to be stalled there, and it made her butt itch something fierce. Worse yet, she couldn't scratch it in his presence.

"You could always quit, of course, if at any point it becomes too much for you. But...if you should succeed...well, I suppose that would mean that you had passed even myself as far as transfiguration goes."

When she looked up, his eyes shone like sapphires behind his glasses, and his lips were drawn into a small smile. Minerva knew what he was doing. As much as she hated being manipulated, she couldn't let him win. Damn it, she _would_ surpass him.

Minerva stood up as tall as she could, pulling her spine straight and throwing her shoulders back. Her weariness fell away like a discarded cloak. When their eyes met again, he smiled.

"Sherbet lemon? No? Then, again."

**~oOo~**

After three years of marriage, to have it end in such a ridiculous way. It's true, Ephinstone wasn't her first choice, but that didn't make their love any less real than others. Despite everything, she truly had loved him.

With him gone, the cabin was cold and empty. Minerva drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she rocked. Had it always been so drafty? Someone was at the door. She could hear them sidling up to it, even before they knocked.

"I'm not entertaining anyone today," she called out without moving from her chair. People had come, but she turned them all away one-by-one. Obviously she couldn't mope forever. Minerva already knew this. But for now, for just a little longer, she wanted to mourn for her future.

Despite her warning, someone knocked, and she recognized the pattern. Albus Dumbledore. With a sigh, she lifted herself and opened the door. He was wearing a long, flowing gray robe that brought out the gray in his hair and eyes. It seemed appropriate, considering the bleak, monochrome day.

"I'm sorry, Albus, but I don't want any company."

She went to close the door, but he caught it and pushed it back open.

"My dear Minerva, not everything is about you. And company happens to be exactly what I need at this moment. I believe this weather has me a bit down, but it's nothing that a quick game of wizard chess can't cure."

He strode in like he owned the place, before she had a chance to object, and conjured up a chessboard and pieces on her kitchen table. Minerva thought to argue, but she knew he would win. He always did. So she resigned herself to her fate and collapsed into the chair across from him.

"Go easy on me, Minerva. I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty now. Let's see. Pawn to G3."

The small, white piece responded to his order and slid along the chessboard to the appropriate square.

"Are we really going to do this, Albus? Here? Now?"

"The board's all set up, and it'd be a shame to have to put it away now. I don't have anything else on my agenda. Do you?"

She sighed heavily. "No, I suppose not. Pawn to B6."

As the game wore on, the pieces on the board dwindled until there were slightly more black pieces than white.

"Rook to E6."

Minerva derived some amount of satisfaction as Albus' knight was shattered and sidelined.

"You don't have to stay here, you know, Minerva. There's a room at Hogwarts, as there always has been, if you choose to use it. You need not be alone."

"I haven't made any decisions yet."

"No, of course not. Take your time. Queen to D4."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, if you even _think_ for one second about throwing this game to try to make me feel better, so help me..."

"I would never."

And he didn't. In a rather beautiful strategy, she had to admit, he had won. But Minerva smiled, in a manner she never thought possible, even though her world was shattering around her.

**~oOo~**

"Minerva, are you awake yet?"

It was early Christmas morning, and she had envisioned a quiet day of reading ahead. It didn't surprise her any, though, to hear his voice outside her room.

"What is it, Albus?" she asked, opening the door just enough to poke her head out.

"Merry Christmas, Minerva. I've brought you a present."

He held up a box that was wrapped in red and green paper with enchanted turtle doves flying around it.

"Albus, I'm still in my _nightgown_."

"Well, so am I. Thought it would be easier this way."

So he was. A long, red-velvet gown that hung off his frame, topped off with a cap reminiscent of the man Muggles called Santa Clause. It was questionable whether he had even bothered to brush his hair and beard, judging by the knots in them. He looked ridiculous and, in a way, so much like himself.

Arguing would do no good, so she slipped a shawl around her shoulders and magicked her hair into a bun with a flick of her wand. She stepped into the study that adjoined her room and took a seat on the very edge of an armchair. Albus sat on the arm of the chair across from her and held out the present expectantly.

Minerva accepted it and opened it under the scrutiny of his gaze. Inside was a knitted, black sweater. As she pulled it out and held it up, she realized it was the ugliest thing she'd ever laid eyes on. It looked like someone had vomited color on it, with two mistletoe leaves in on the bottom and a unicorn in the middle.

"Well?"

Those blue eyes were watching her eagerly, but she couldn't discern the thought behind them. Minerva had to cover her mouth with a wrinkled hand because she was afraid of losing her composure. In the end, it came out anyway, first in a giggle and then in a hearty laugh and a groan.

"Albus, I'm sorry, but it's just awful."

"I know, isn't it wonderful? I made it myself."

She shook her head, not sure where he derived 'wonderful' out of the word 'awful'.

"Arthur Weasley has clued me in to a sort of Muggle tradition, where they gift each other really horrid sweaters for Christmas and wear them around. I thought that rather sounded like fun."

"Fun? It sounds downright ridiculous."

"Is there a difference in the two?"

Minerva studied him carefully, sitting across from her beaming. He was older than when they first met, but that was no surprise—so was she. There was still a boyish charm about him, despite the wrinkles that dug into his skin, and a rather mischievous glint in his eye. There was so much life in him, so much light.

"Albus, do you really expect me to wear this?"

"I do. Actually, I was rather hoping you would join me for a drink at Hogsmeade, too. My treat."

Minerva sighed. She would look so _foolish. _But she supposed, just this once, on the arm of the greatest wizard of all time, she could make an exception.

**~oOo~**

She wasn't even sure how it happened, the old snake charmer that he was. She was still convinced, even after slipping on her green gown, that balls were meant for the youthful, not shriveled up old prunes as they were. But he had insisted.

"_You don't expect me to go alone, do you? Besides, someone has to show the students how to dance properly."_

Minerva slipped her wand out of her sleeve and raised it, considering her hairdo. Ponytails were for schoolgirls. A bun was her go-to look but perhaps too quotidian for the occasion. What did that leave? It had been over a decade since she last wore her hair down. Perhaps it was time.

"You look lovely, Minerva," Albus whispered to her as they made their way to the ball arm-in-arm. She felt so silly under the disbelieving stares of the students, led along like a trophy for him to show off.

He looked dashing, though, in his silver, gold-trimmed robes. His eyes were radiant as he placed a hand on the small of her back, wrapping the other around hers. He would lead, of course, because that's how dancing worked. It was odd, but she found that it wasn't hard to give up the reins and follow. In a way, she had spent her whole life chasing after him, so it seemed almost natural that he would lead her.

As they spun around the dance floor, Minerva realized that, despite her early efforts, at some point she had given up her desire to surpass him. At some point, she had accepted its impossibility. It wasn't his wizarding talent, as great as it was, that made him such a powerful force. It was much more than that.

Minerva found the blue eyes oddly irresistible and slightly unnerving, as if he was inspecting her soul. They had been handed similar lots in life, she realized. Twice she had failed at love, and that was twice too many. Even though she couldn't begin to speculate about what happened in the years before they met, his heart was just as guarded as her own. They were fortresses against love.

But, as improbable as it seemed, Minerva did love the man. There was a chance that he felt the same about her, too. However, it was a love they could never share.

She let herself be swept away by the music and the moment.

**~oOo~**

_The last note of the song hung in the air longer than seemed possible, and then the funeral dirge was done. Minerva watched with sadness as Fawkes flew into the distance. She knew he would never return. There was nothing left for him there._

_Minerva caught herself smiling, even as she blinked away tears, remembering what Albus always said at moments like that. Whenever she was at her lowest, when all hope had drained from the world, he would smile and declare, "Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."_

_Though he never did manage to become an Animagus, she imagined that he would have been a phoenix. Like Fawkes. Like his patronus. He already was, in his own way. He brought magic and healing wherever he went. Despite everything they had been through, whenever they were at their lowest, Albus found a way to pull through, and something beautiful was always born from the darkest moments. Where there was death, he found a way to bring new life. But not this time._

_The thought crossed her mind sadly as the rain slowed to a drizzle._

_Not all phoenixes are reborn after they die._

* * *

**Author's Note:** This was written for Emanium as his OTP. Written for the "Random Acts of Kindness Competition" in Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum. I recommend you join! It's been lots of fun.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of Harry Potter; it belongs to J.K. Rowling.


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